


Soulmates

by Seilann



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Other, Shippy, because Word of God said so, but not necessarily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:38:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seilann/pseuds/Seilann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There had been screw-ups, and awkwardness, and misunderstandings, not to mention that first impression that still made Emil wince. But somehow in the midst of all that they had silently, maybe unwittingly, accepted each other. Resonated with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soulmates

Emil couldn’t believe it had been such a short time since the crew had arrived in the Silent World. It felt like an entire lifetime of experiences had already flown by — the book salvaging that was their mission being, ironically, the least of it all.

Camp tonight had again been made in some fort Emil couldn’t remember the name of, which smelled of what Sigrun called “just mold” and looked even more derelict than it smelled. Their tank was parked in the shelter of a short stone tunnel, one side of which looked into a courtyard packed with three feet of snow. The other side opened onto a narrow footpath that ran along the zigzagging, frozen moat. Sigrun had decided, with Mikkel’s help, that the partially obstructed walkway would serve to both keep away larger trolls and still give them a backup escape route. Little matter that the tank would have half a tread rolling on air if it came to using it.

There had been no book run today, just driving and planning and taking care of the chores that usually got pushed to the side. Emil’s last two hours had just about killed him as he helped Mikkel scrub troll remains off the tank, as a result of which he was now highly in favor of Sigrun’s idea to outfit the vehicle with metal spikes. Mikkel was not so in favor. Emil suspected he’d be scrubbing troll gunk again soon.

It was nearly sunset now. Finally clean, dry, and satisfactory to Mikkel’s “protocol,” Emil wandered over to the old stone bench sitting against one wall of the tunnel and flopped down. Dinner wasn’t ready yet, Lalli wasn’t awake yet, and the women were around the other side of the tank washing up. Emil draped one arm across the back of the bench and watched Mikkel teaching Reynir to cook. He couldn’t understand a word of Icelandic, so it got boring fast.

It occurred to Emil that he might try joining in anyway. He and Reynir had basically moved past the mortal enemies thing (he hoped; there was always suspicion), but they hadn’t found much in common yet. It could have just been the language barrier. There was nothing _really_ wrong with the guy, excluding maybe his nearly idiotic optimism. But if Emil was completely honest, he just didn’t see a great friendship blooming there. No click. No moment of connection or mutual understanding. There was also the fact that Lalli didn’t seem to like Reynir, which maybe colored Emil’s impression of the redhead more than it should.

Emil leaned back, a smile sneaking onto his face. What was it about Lalli that had captured Emil so completely? His efforts to befriend the scout had never really been a conscious thing. There had been screw-ups, and awkwardness, and misunderstandings, not to mention that first impression that still made Emil wince. But somehow in the midst of all that they had silently, maybe unwittingly, accepted each other. Resonated with each other. Emil imagined them sharing a language and realized for the first time that their relationship probably wouldn't have evolved to what it was. Maybe they wouldn’t have paid such close attention. Maybe they would have taken more for granted, and never reached the point of really _getting_ each other.

The thought was painful. The pain was unnerving.

“Food!” came Sigrun’s enthusiastic battle cry. She marched around the corner of the tank, fists in the air, hair totally disheveled from her bath. Tuuri followed, bouncing along at two steps for each of her captain’s. “And Mikkel, if you’ve slipped candles in this time, I swear…”

Mikkel turned away to hide his smirk. “Even if I had, you’d never know it.”

Reynir was just bringing out the foldable chairs from the storage compartment. At Mikkel’s instruction, he set them up around the stove with Emil’s bench rounding out the circle.

“Lalli!’ Tuuri singsonged into the tank, “Tule syömään!”

“Ask him to bring my notebook,” Emil requested. At Tuuri’s confused look, he said, “He’ll know what I mean.”

She relayed the message, and moments later a yawning Lalli stumbled down the steps of the tank, leather-bound notebook in hand. In his characteristic heavy-lidded daze he swerved around his cousin, then away from Reynir, took the long way around the stove, and dropped onto the bench in front of Emil’s outstretched arm. He then proceeded to yawn again. Some fifteen seconds into it, Emil decided to pluck the notebook out of Lalli’s hand himself.

“Thank you,” he said, opening the little black book across his knees. Two columns of notes stared up at him, neatly divided by a crease in the center of the page: Swedish on the left, Finnish on the right. The collection included an impressive fifteen words and phrases, of which he could proudly say he had memorized seven. Mostly.

Mikkel brought the boys their stew, then took a seat between Lalli and Reynir. The Icelander had pulled his chair to within inches of Tuuri’s and was happily talking her ear off about something or other. Between Tuuri and Emil, Sigrun sat awkwardly with her bowl balanced on one knee, a map draped across the other, a spoon and chunk of bread in one hand, and Trond’s list of salvage sites held twisted toward the firelight in the other. Somehow she still managed to look cool like that.

Emil tried writing down what he’d heard Tuuri shout just a moment ago. He wasn’t confident; Finnish was still just sounds to him — jumbles of weird vowels with the odd consonant thrown in to break it up. He didn’t really expect to ever become functional in the language. Rather, it was yet another way to show what Lalli’s friendship meant to him.

“Eru Emil og Lalli gay?”

Reynir's whisper was loud enough that Emil, who had just set his pen down to take a swig of water, shot the liquid back out through his nose. He coughed, gasped for air, then coughed some more. “Excuse me?” he demanded when he had his vocal cords back. “I only caught three words of that… but _what_?!”

Sigrun was in hysterics. Her laughter and snorts echoed across the courtyard. Emil tried to shoot her a glare, but it only made her crack up more.

“Actually…” Tuuri said, drawing out the word with a sideways glance, “and don’t take offense, but I’ve kind of been wondering that too.”

“Wondering _what_?”

“If you and Lalli are…”

Her hesitation dragged on a moment too long, so Mikkel jumped in. “Friends, or more than friends.”

“Wait a minute, I thought it was obviously the second one,” Sigrun said, wiping away tears. The grin stayed stuck on her face.

Emil couldn’t believe it. “You people. You were all speculating about us behind our backs?!”

“But which is it?” Tuuri asked. “You seem _really_ close. Especially for Lalli.”

“Though there is the difficulty of communication,” Mikkel reasoned.

“Screw spoken language, their body language says it all,” Sigrun argued with a gesture.

Emil realized his arm was still practically around Lalli’s shoulders, and pulled it back toward himself as subtly as was possible with five people watching. It was at this point that Lalli, now wide awake and frowning, threw Tuuri a question of his own. Emil knew him well enough to guess it was something along the lines of “What’s going on?”

“Don’t you dare tell him,” he said before Tuuri could respond. “He doesn’t need to know how perverse you all are.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “Oh, Emil, it’s not perverse! We just want to know. You know, so we can, um, congratulate you, or…”

“Or whatever,” Sigrun finished with a snerk.

“ _Tuuri_ ,” Lalli grumped.

Emil buried his face in his hands as Tuuri began explaining the situation. There were three typically Lalli reactions to be expected: a grunt of surprise, if he allowed it of himself; a look of disgust followed by complete shut-out for the rest of the expedition; or some incriminating comment fueled by the most dangerous combination of 1) good intent and 2) complete misinterpretation of Tuuri’s question.

Of the three, Emil would only be able to shield himself from the look of disgust. He kept his face in his hands.

There was silence a moment, and he could sense Lalli thinking beside him. Was it a disgusted kind of thinking? A friendly one?

A small hand patted the top of his head. Lalli’s voice, still its usual just-above-a-whisper, nonetheless carried clearly in the silence.

“He says,” Tuuri translated for the group at large, “it’s not really our business what Emil feels. Unless Emil himself wants us to know.”

Emil raised his head, and met the gazes of his crew mates across the fire. Lalli’s hand stayed where it was, a gentle pressure on the back of his head.

Sigrun crossed her arms. “Well, you’ve got to respect that.”

“Indeed,” Mikkel said.

“Sorry,” Tuuri added. “I shouldn’t have pushed, Emil.”

Reynir offered nothing, but his eyes roved from person to person begging her for a translation of his own.

Suddenly Emil couldn't keep his mouth closed. “We’re not lovers,” he said. “But I’m really confused because I don’t think ‘friends’ is accurate either and I don’t actually have any idea how I feel because having friends at all is a weird feeling and I just don’t want to ruin this or make Lalli hate me and I don’t even understand why I feel so strongly about him but help me…

“Help me,” he finished, mortified.

Foot, mouth. A failure so spectacular it had come to life and was trying to liquify him from the inside out with sparkly acid saliva.

“Woah.” Sigrun, as usual, was the first to respond. “First of all, sit up straight. Maybe close your mouth, too. You’re a warrior; look the part.”

Emil made a half-hearted attempt to obey.

“Second, stop being so fidgety. If we were here to judge you, there’s a list a mile long that would have priority over the whole ‘maybe in love with Lalli’ thing, so this would really be the least of your worries. Third — wait, that last one sounded bad. Oops. Never mind.”

“I think I get it,” Emil said, as Lalli finally pulled his hand away. “But honestly, I’ve been trying not to think too much about the whole thing.”

“As you should,” Mikkel said. “It wouldn’t do to try forcing something that isn’t there, any more than it would do to run away from something that is.”

Sigrun nodded. “You should listen to him. He’s occasionally not stupid.”

Now Emil sat up straight for real. He looked at Lalli, whose eyebrows were lowered for a sulk, and his smile widened as he realized why. “Tuuri, could you please explain all this to him?”

“I can… Are you sure?”

“I want him to know.”

She made quick work of it, tongue dancing across the sounds of her native language like water across smooth stones. Lalli shrugged, gave a short reply, and just like that the sulk disappeared. His face eased back into its usual passive mask.

“Well?” Emil prodded.

Tuuri grinned. “‘It will be as its meant to, however that is.’ I think that’s Lalli speak for: whether you end up friends, enemies, soulmates, whatever… you just have to let it play out? Or something like that.”

Emil leaned back, and replaced his arm behind Lalli’s shoulders. Soulmates. Not friends, or lovers, or even something in between. A word independent of all those labels people liked to give each other. A word for a connection that couldn’t be explained.

Something felt right about that word.

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite possibly the first and only fan fiction I have written to date and I am nervous as HECK posting it, but the concept latched onto my brain and would not let go until I wrote it -- so I wrote it.
> 
> Inspired by Minna's comment about Lalli and Emil being soulmates and the discus conversation on how to interpret that sneaky little pronouncement. ;)
> 
> *Please correct me on the Finnish and Icelandic text if it's wrong/unnatural. Google Translate is my number one frenemy.


End file.
